


Just trying to get home.

by Luxi_Storyteller



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Clarke is trying to get home, F/F, Lexa is a horny mess, Phone Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-18
Updated: 2016-04-18
Packaged: 2018-06-03 01:30:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,879
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6591181
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Luxi_Storyteller/pseuds/Luxi_Storyteller
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clarke just has to pick up a book, but Lexa is home and doing everything she can think of to get Clarke to hurry up. And so Clarke hurries, unwilling to suffer through Lexa's horny wrath of vengeance if she take her time. </p><p>Just a warning, you may have already read this...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just trying to get home.

**Author's Note:**

> New account. New name. No ties to my old world. So even if you know me, you can't prove its really me. Love you all, and please tell me what you think of the story.

I didn’t want to stop to pick up the newest edition of art therapy; however, the Barnes and Noble representative had left the fifth message stating if I did not come to pick up the book it would be placed on the shelf. This causes my delay from the beautiful lawyer that had sent me at least six snap chats of herself in various stages of a hot candle lit bath with just the words, “I’m waiting.”

Six weeks of my workaholic girlfriend locked away in her office had me a particular type of frustrated. What was more frustrating though, was my biggest pet peeve. People who stand too close to me while in line, and presently there were several misfit teens hovering over my back and maintaining no less than six inches from my body. 

Loud teens over using the word “dude” with screeching puberty cracking voices were too close and each breath against my neck makes my skin crawl and causes my feet to twitch with need to move from this spot as quickly as possible. However, running like a germaphobe maniac through the crowded store may cause significant doubt of my sanity, and thus jeopardize my work with behavioral therapy. 

Phone chiming again, I shield the screen as I take in the six seconds of her fingers stroking a perked nipple on her perfect chest. The blood rushing from my chest to settling in my already flustered cheeks, and further ruining my chonies. Lace was definitely a bad choice for today. 

“I can help who’s next,” the elder woman with orangish red hair states. Stepping forward to leave the gangly goonie gang behind. I’m stopped, though, by my further loss in hope for the next generation of humanity.

I can’t unhear the thoroughly annoying boy with floppy hair, saying, “Hope to see that ass again soon, gorgeous.”

Turning to face the ass riders, I take in the rag tag bunch group of boys. The smallest one being with the mouth, who I am considering rendering useless. That is until a muscled brunette comes forward with a glare far more agitated that even I am. 

The small badge on her shirt, telling me she is the manager. The manager with a raspy bark that has floppy hair boy looking like he may piss himself. His body backing into the bookmark holder as she stepped forward, “If you cannot keep your disrespectful garbish in my mouth, then you have no business in my store.” Spittle flies from her lips with each syllable add a sweet justice for the boy that had practically liked the back of neck a few moments before.

He stammers as he tries to recover, but my attention is draw back to my phone, where I open a snap that shows her lean body lying against our bed and fingers working over an area that is clearly soft and ready for me to be home. Glancing at the cashier, who is still watching the boys as they are escorted from the building with the manager scolding them and a bulkier man standing by menacingly.

Phone ringing, her green eyes come over my screen. Beautiful mossy eyes bright in a smile that the courtroom never bares witness too. My heart pumping a little faster, I swipe the answer key and pull the phone to my ear. Without a moment to even provide a greeting or apology, Lexa’s irritated scold comes through the phone, and suddenly I feel like those boys that the manager is still scowling at. 

“Get your beautiful ass home,” she growls, and I can here the dominant demand in her voice. But hidden behind the command is a call for claiming. Her timely need for release leaving her a wanting mess for multiple release. 

I smile, as I head past the woman at the register. There’s no point in pretending that I truly need this blasted book, not as I promise her, “I’m coming, Lexi.”

The moan is subtle but present, and I know she is touching herself to the sound of my voice. Her soft aching words, she said, “Not yet... you’re not,” a momentary pause that isn’t really a pause as “mmhhh,”  spreads through the nerves under my skin. Rippling and disturbing what little control I’m clinging too. 

My strides longer as I pass by the manager, mouthing a simple “thanks” and then knocking into the lanky almost bald kid alongside floppy hair, who catches the swinging door in the groin. Body bending forward as the air leaves his lungs in a harsh exhale and a pained groan.

Wanting to make an even big of a show for the idiots and remind them of their place, I drop my voice an octave and muster as much raspiness as I can manage, asking Lexa, “Is your perfect pussy pleading for my tongue to fuck you senseless isn’t baby?”

“Dude,” one of the boys croaks, as floppy is still choking.

Her panting through the phone tells me that even if I wanted to stop now, I have to keep her pleased. “Just slow circles, Lexi,” I instruct her, hoping to build her up but not send her over to the stars yet.

I pause as an SUV with a little brunette staring at her phone almost ends my fight. Catching my breath, I try to steady my nerves and focus on my objective. Getting home to Lexa. 

The car seems so far away as Lexa whines, “Clarke, come home to me.”

Lips spreading, I can’t hold back the smile that is growing with her neediness. I try not to sound too amused with her neediness as I tell her, “I’m going to be there soon baby.” 

Two cars away, I tap the unlock button to the Mini Cooper. Strides wide, until I throw open the door.  Plopping into the seat unceremoniously and tossing the keyfab into the cup holder. Pressing the start button, the engine turning over as I hear her place me on speaker and the sound of her hand working against her wet folds causes my own moan to fall from my lips.

“Ka-lark,” she struggles with just my name as though she may tumble over her edge any moment.  

Humming in approval, I turn the sound off to the radio. Whispering horsely into the phone, “You sound so ready for me. So ready for me press my fingers within you. To stroke you as my tongue maps your clit.”

“Oh fuck,” she hisses, and the sounds of her movements slow down. 

Praising her, I tell her, “Good girl. I’m almost home. You just keep yourself ready for me. Ready and spread for me to take my time-”

“Fuk time!” she growls. “You will fuck me fast and fur… furiously when you get your ass in this house.” Her scolding sweet and sexy, and just turns me on more. “You better be naked too!” There is a moment of just her moans, before she threatens, “If I have to undress you, I’m going to just fuck myself and leave you a mess of displeasure.”

And I know she’s not lying. The one time I tried to test her left me a horney mess tied to the bed as she came all over my stomach to her own touch. Me unable to touch her, her position too high up for me to gain any friction for her or me. The way she secured my leg ensured that I couldn't seek my own. 

Shaking my head, I know I don't wanna go through that after it’s already been so long. Too long. 

My car pulls into the driveway, and I tap my fingers on the steering wheel impatiently waiting for the garage door to open. Looking at my pale fingers, I know the next step. “I want you to put two fingers in that gorgeous cunt and pump… slowly,” I tell her as the door raises just enough to sneak my car under it.

Pulling forward, she moans, “Ahh, right there.” I don’t even need to close my eyes to see her laying spread on our bed with her fingers dipping and pulling back within her. The sight one that I thoroughly enjoy whenever she decides I have been a bad girl and she wants to punish me. 

“It feels so good,” she whispers, and I know she is fighting to keep control. Fighting to last for me to get inside. 

I’m out of the car and through the door. The door that I lean against after hopping. Trying to tug my boots off, losing balance, and the wooden door catching me so I don't sink to the ground. 

“Oh… Fuck me!” she calls from the bedroom. The second boot falling to the ground and shirt buttons flying as I just don't care anymore. Pulling at the material and tearing it off. 

Three steps down the hallway and my pants are undone and I'm hobbling as I try to get my feet from the holes. Because pants were not made for walking when they are around your knees, contrary to a mass population that chooses to waddle daily. 

Uncoordinated and in a hurry, I find myself falling over my pants that are holding my feet together. Falling and holding out my hands to catch me. Which do, kinda. Well not really. 

I'm holding my searing hand to my chest as I roll to my side. The pain radiating up my arm and eyes scrunched as I hiss. Hiss loudly, the tears spreading and I lay mostly undressed, trapped in the confines of my fucking pants and holding my arm to my chest.

“Clarke?” I hear her softly. Her voice barely breaking through the pulsing of my own blood in my ears and the panting of my breaths trying to get enough oxygen in my blood to travel to my battle wound and ease the ache. 

Smooth hands touching me, and green eyes peeking through my squinted eyes. My throat clogged with mucus and broken sobs, unable to get anything but, “hurts” out.

Tanned arm comes up and under my back. Lifting me like I'm weightless but fragile. “I got you babe,” she whispers and then she is picking up what I dropped when I fell. My phone that is still on a call to her even though the glass of the screen is splintered.

Lexa looks over it for a second, and then, logs into my favorites. Her fingers agile and swift before lips find my forehead and she tells me, “It’s going to be okay, Princess.”

Her hands holding me in. Then, I beg her, “Please… don't tie me to bed… and fuck all over me.” Her eyes are wide, and then narrow but it's so hard to focus. So I just try to clarify, “I can do it… My face. Just ride my tongue like it's a rodeo.” My wrist pulses with another ache and I cringe. 

Though nothing compared to the cringing I do, as Lexa says into the phone, “No, Abby. Clarke is not pranking you.” Lexa sighs momentarily, and then says, “She slipped in the hallway and I think she sprained,” her eyes scan the appendage I am protectively holding to my chest, “or broke her wrist.”

_ Fuck! _


End file.
